


The White Island

by Mira



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John glanced at Teyla and Rodney; they were well out of hearing range. "I didn't want Rodney to hear," he admitted quietly.  Ronon bent closer.  "It's just, my back has been hurting and getting over that stile -- it's gonna be a bitch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Island

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Casa McShep](http://community.livejournal.com/casa_mcshep/) LJ community.

"My boots weigh a ton," Rodney groused. "Look! Look at the mud on them! It's like walking on stilts. Jesus."

No one answered. John sighed. Rodney was right; he was probably two inches taller thanks to the thick adobe mud clinging to his boot soles. John didn't see any point in complaining about it; they all were suffering from the mud and the slow drizzle of rain. At least John had learned to wear a hat, though he hated them.

"And why is it always raining? I know it doesn't _always_ rain here, but it's always raining when we hike in from the gate. Hasn't it always rained? Couldn't we check the weather first? Not to mention--"

"McKay!" John shouted. "That's enough already."

"Oh, easy for you to say," Rodney began, but John had had it. He stopped, stared at Rodney, and said, "Okay, that's it. If you don't want to be part of this team anymore, if this isn't worth your valuable time, then get somebody else. Or go back through the gate, whatever. Just, just go or shut up."

Rodney's mouth had opened but not shut. He stared at John.

"Goddammit, I'm sick of listening to you whine. That's enough, Rodney. We get it. You don't want to be here, it's not worth your time, so go. Ronon, take him back to the gate, so he can go where he wants. Teyla and I'll go on."

"No, wait," Rodney said. "I, it's just." He snapped his mouth shut into a thin, irritated line. "You know I don't think that. Let's go." He stomped off, nearly tripping over the thick mud churned up with each step.

"Fine," John said, following. "But this can't go on."

"I heard you the first time," Rodney muttered. He had refused to wear a hat and what hair he had left was plastered to his head. The rain was light but constant and they were only about a half mile from the gate by now.

Teyla gave John a long, measured look before following Rodney. Ronon appeared bored. John sighed, and set out again. The long grass lay sodden on the muddy ground, slick under his boots, and rain dripped down the back of his hat into his shirt.

After another twenty minutes of hiking, John saw the stile set into the low wooden fence that kept the shaf along the river. He groaned, slowing. Teyla crossed first, turning to help Rodney over it. Normally, Rodney complained loudly at this point; he didn't like the shaf, who were slow stupid animals that left piles of shit the color of the mud. They all ended up with shaf shit on their shoes and the smell stuck. This time, Rodney just climbed over the stile, letting Teyla help him balance.

John stared at the stile. Ronon went ahead, but John put out his arm and stopped him. "Ah, Teyla, you and Rodney go ahead. We'll catch up with you."

"What'd I do now? I didn't say a word; did I say a word?"

"Just go on," John said.

Teyla said, "Are you well?"

"I'm fine, I just need to talk to Ronon."

Rodney narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Then talk."

"Go. On," John said slowly and firmly. Teyla took Rodney's elbow and gently tugged. They left.

"What the hell's your problem?" Ronon asked him.

"Who says I have a problem?"

"You act like it's the end of the beans."

John stared at him. "Beans?"

Ronon scratched his head and said, "What bug crawled up your butt?"

He glanced at Teyla and Rodney; they were well out of hearing range. "I didn't want Rodney to hear," he admitted quietly. Ronon bent closer. "It's just, my back has been hurting and getting over that stile -- it's gonna be a bitch."

Ronon didn't roll his eyes at John, but nudged him toward the fence. "I'll help."

"Yeah, I was hopin'," John said. He started to step up with this right foot, stopped, and switched legs. Ronon took his elbow. "Shit, shit," John muttered. He pushed up with his left leg okay, but when he tried to lift his right foot high enough for the next step, something in his lower back caught. He groaned.

"Sheppard," Ronon said. He carefully drew John back, then climbed over the stile. On the other side, halfway down, he turned. "Okay, try again."

"Jesus," John said. This was humiliating. Left foot, okay, right, fuck fuck _fuck_ , but Ronon had hold of him and took most of his weight. Going down was easier, too. "Thanks," John muttered.

"See the doc. It doesn't eat bread."

" _Ça ne mange pas de pain,_ " John nearly shouted, forgetting the pain in his back. "You're seeing Lieutenant Georgelin."

Ronon shrugged, but John could tell he was smiling. "Maybe."

"Well, she's pretty," John said. "What's her name? Clotilde?"

Ronon made a non-committal sound. John decided to check out Georgelin, make sure she was good enough for Ronon. "Clotilde," he said to himself, and then stumbled and grabbed the small of his back. It was a lot easier without Rodney staring at him. Ronon took his arm and _loomed_ over him. "Fuck," John muttered. They started walking; Ronon didn't let go.

"So what happened?" Ronon asked as they drew near the village.

"Nothing! Literally, nothing. I was sitting, I went to stand up, and . . ." He shook his head. "It's better, but damn."

"Teyla hit you?"

"No, I said it was nothing."

"That run we took?"

"No, goddammit." Ronon looked at him. "Okay, the run made my knees ache, but it didn't hurt my back."

"Weird sex?"

"No! Jesus, give it a rest. I told you, I was just sitting and when I stood up, I thought I was going to throw up." That was more than John had intended to admit. "I just stood up," he repeated, feeling sulky and picked on.

"Gettin' old, Sheppard," Ronon said, and then they stepped through a low gate and onto the bridge into the village. John thought about telling him to fuck off, but Ronon was right. He was getting old. Well, older.

John paused at the bridge's railing to look around. The clouds had sunk even lower so they brushed the treetops and occluded the horizon. The river here slowed and widened into this high mountain lake that seemed to pull the fog to it; almost every visit here was made in the silvery fog. He knew from past visits that the lake on which the village floated was surrounded by low rolling hills, but he could see nothing but pale grey wisps of fog and low cloud. Water vapor condensed on his face, soft and cool. John could see the setting sun glowing a hazy red.

The water beneath the bridge splashed softly against the struts. He learned over, forgetting his back until it hitched; he grabbed the small of his back on his right side, making a face. In the undulating water he saw his reflection, smeary and dark, and then Ronon's at his side. "Come on," Ronon said.

The bridge was long and narrow and gently arced, built with three flat elliptical arches and bordered by worn wooden railings faded to a silvery sheen and entwined with deeply carved designs of flowering vines. He trailed his hand over the top, enjoying the sensation of the ornamentation. The wood felt soft with age and wear and weather.

Voices carry over water and by the time he and Ronon had reached the midpoint of the bridge, John could hear Rodney's voice, though not his words. He sounded distressed, almost urgent, so John sped up. He found walking downhill easier than climbing, so he was able to move without pain from the bridge into the cobbled lane. Trees with long trailing branches like weeping willows bordered the lane, nearly hiding the wattle-and-daub facades of the low buildings the villagers preferred. They wound their way deeper into the village until they reached the first plaza, a wide ellipse, shaped like one of the arches in the bridge.

Rodney and Teyla were talking with the Eldest Three. A circle of people had gathered: the Eldest's students, five or six kids running around, two dogs sniffing at Teyla's fingers. Konar caught John's eye and nodded. He half-bowed to her, and saw Ronon do the same. Then Rodney saw John. He straightened abruptly and stopped talking. Konar and the others looked at him, surprised. Teyla took over.

"We are glad this day has arrived," she said. "We have brought gifts and supplies, as well as medicines and some tools that Major Lorne suggested."

"Thank you, Teyla of Athos. Evan of San Francisco has been most kind. He and Radek of Prague are hard workers."

John smiled broadly at the three. "Konar, Estes, Calgra. It's good to see you."

"Welcome, John of Virginia," Konar said. "We are happy to see you safely returned."

"Happy to be returned to you," Ronon said, surprising John.

"Yeah," he agreed. Konar had a sharp eye and she was studying him; he felt a bit uncomfortable. He wondered what Rodney had been telling them. Konar and Estes, and Calgra in particular, always knew more than he was comfortable with, and he'd never figured out how they knew the things they did. He managed to keep his hands still instead of rubbing the back of his neck, a tell he was trying to unlearn. "Everyone here?"

"You are the last," Estes said. Very tall and thin, Estes reminded John of Halling except his skin was deep brown and his eyes an eerie pale green. Konar was shorter than Miko and robust; Calgra looked much like Ronon, so much that he wondered if she were Satedan.

"First you must settle," Konar said. "When the bells sound, we will meet again."

They all bowed again, John as deeply as his back would let him. He managed not to groan, but he had to put his hand on his lower back again when he straightened.

The three Eldest turned, followed by their students. The little kids stopped and stared. One of them, a girl around five or six and named, to John's not-so-secret amusement, Arrenbee, said, "Did you know there's a feast tomorrow night? Did you know we'll have shraf? And Da says we'll have einen, too, and those potatoes I like, and the fish that Radek likes, he says it's _Pečené medailonky z tuňáka_ , but I don't know what that is, do you?"

"Oh my god," Rodney said, and Teyla laughed.

"No, I don't, but it sounds delicious," she told Arrenbee. "Perhaps we should ask Radek?"

"Oh, now that's just mean," John said, but Arrenbee had already taken Teyla's hand and was leading her and the other children toward Radek's home.

Ronon said, "See ya when the bell rings," and loped off. No doubt going to home see his French lieutenant, John thought.

He told Rodney, "Well, we better get ready."

"Hmph," Rodney said, and set off, John following. They slowed, because the streets here didn't encourage rushing, especially at twilight. A bird sang, much like a nightingale from Earth, sweet and melodic, and the evening breeze began to stir branches and leaves.

"Listen," John started, but Rodney held up a hand.

"I know. Just. It was a big decision, and I'm still torn, but John, it's the right thing to do. Don't --"

"No, that's not it --"

"Not much time, I know, but it's the right step --"

"Shut up, McKay, and let me apologize."

"Oh."

Rodney stopped, and John pulled him around. "It's not what you're thinking. I'm not having second thoughts. I hurt my back, okay? And it's this constant --" he gestured toward his lower back, then rubbed his forehead. "It isn't terrible. It's just _there_ , and that hike from the gate aggravated it. That's all. It wasn't you, well, it wasn't entirely you, and it isn't this."

"Oh. Well, good. I mean, sorry about your back, and why the hell didn't you tell me? Jesus, I was imagining all sorts of things, most of them involving you changing your mind."

John punched Rodney in the shoulder. "We better hurry or the Eldest will be pissed."

"God, not again."

But they didn't hurry. They ambled along the narrow and winding lane, smelling the fresh scent of the water, of the climbing nasturtiums and sweetpeas, of the golden forsythia that climbed a wall and overhung their route, and the ever-present weeping willows, graceful in the light breeze. Lights were beginning to glow within the buildings, revealing misty outlines of windows from behind the shrubbery lined passageway. John knew, from flying a jumper over the island, that very little showed from overhead. The island was big and mostly empty country. The compact settlement was well hidden beneath the trees and climbing vines, and most of the buildings had low-pitched sod roofs either covered in bark or grasses. Some inhabitants raised goats and John had been surprised more than once by a face peering down at him, mouth full of grass.

Their place was marked by two old pottery buckets that someone, probably Konar, had filled: one with earth and pebbles, the other with water and a single floating white flower. "Significance?" John wondered. Tomorrow he'd grab a kid and ask; they always knew.

Inside was warm. John immediately sat on one of the low boxy upholstered pieces that served as chairs and couches and beds, sighing. His back hitched when he leaned forward to unlace his boots and he froze, eyes shut. "Shit," he murmured. He heard Rodney sigh, and then felt his hands on his feet. "Let me," Rodney said. John opened his eyes to see Rodney kneeling before him, holding John's left foot. "You should have said something instead of being an asshole."

"I know," John said, grimacing. "I'll see the doc tomorrow."

Rodney didn't respond, just continued removing John's boots and socks. John sighed when his bare feet touched the floor; it was so warm. He wasn't sure what the technology was, but it was a luxury enjoyed by every household on the island. What he especially liked, not that he'd ever tell Rodney, was that the luxuries here were enjoyed by everybody, not just a few who lucked out with a special gene.

Rodney took off his own shoes and said, "I'm gonna take a bath." John heard it as the invitation it was, so he rose, letting Rodney help him. "A hot soak'll do you good," Rodney added.

They filled the long low basin quickly with steaming water. Baths weren't taken in the same room as the toilet here; those rooms were on the exterior closest to the street. The bath was in a small windowless interior room that quickly filled with steam. The wooden basin was carved with just the right angle to recline chin-deep in water. Rodney was right; the hot water did feel good and John thought it would help. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and sank beneath the water, coming up for air only when he had to. "Good idea," John said, and Rodney looked pleased.

They had washed and were nearly dressed when the first bells began to ring. "Dress warm," Rodney said. "Don't let your back get cold." John grabbed his favorite jacket, the leather one with shaf wool trim around the hood and cuffs. Rodney wound a long, Harry Potter-esque scarf knitted by Teyla around his neck and they hurried into the chilly night.

The fog made every light into a mystery, a smudged glow in the night. Their neighbors on both sides were already in the lane, talking; Avro had his little boy up on his shoulders. "We are glad you are here," his partner Jeva said, and others around them agreed. John felt suddenly shy. "Thank you," he murmured. More people came out and soon the lane was completely full of cheerful, chatting people making their way to the main plaza of the village.

Once they'd arrived, the three Eldest greeted them. More bells were ringing: the Eldest's students supervised a herd of children as they rang and clanged the ball-shaped bells hung at the periphery of the plaza. The clamor grew to a painful crescendo and then abruptly the village was in silence. There was a pause, and then Konar said, "It is time." She turned and led the way back to the bridge that John and his team had crossed just a short while ago. Not much ceremony, John thought, but he wasn't complaining.

John and Rodney were near the tail of the crowd of villagers. John was satisfied to move slowly, not only because he didn't want to twist his back again but to see the lights and hear the voices. There was a calm to these people even in their excitement, very different from what he was used to. In the military, he thought, you were either bored stupid or frightened to death; there was no middle way.

But he was being dishonest, he realized; he _was_ excited. This was a different adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. He grinned and saw that Rodney seemed pleased as well.

"Ah, Rodney, there you are," he heard, and saw Radek hurrying through the crowd toward them. Emily Simpson and Miko Kusanagi followed closely, laughing as they walked.

"Radek," Rodney said regally.

"Hey," John greeted them.

"Hey, boss," he heard Evan Lorne say. They were almost at the bridge to the mainland and people were spreading out along the shore of the island, looking across the water and at the bridge. The kids had brought the shaf across earlier, so everyone was trying to avoid the fresh piles of shit. A dog near him sniffed with great interest at a mound, and Chuck shooed it away. John saw that Amelia was nearby, talking to a tall man who had to be Estes' brother, while Andy Corrigan listened intently to whatever Calgra was saying to a group of kids surrounding them.

"Any jumpers?"

"Two more. Hidden and cloaked."

John nodded: good, good. "How'd we get here?" he asked Lorne.

Lorne grinned. "Luck," he said firmly. "Dumb luck."

John grinned at him in agreement, and then felt Rodney at his side. "Dumb," Rodney scoffed. "Speak for yourself," but then Ronon slid through the crowd, drawing after him none other than Sous-Lieutenant Clotilde Georgelin, on very permanent loan from the _Armée de l'Air_.

"I knew it," John muttered to Rodney, who was staring up at the lieutenant; she was nearly as tall as Ronon, a golden Amazon smiling luminously. Rodney openly gawked at them until Ronon tapped Rodney's chin so his mouth closed. "Well," Rodney said, and then smiled and to John's surprise said, " _Vous êtes plus beaux que les êtoiles._ "

Clotilde laughed, and behind him, John heard Teyla's musical laugh. He turned, too quickly so he had to grab his back. "Oh, John," she said, and glided to him. Behind her, he saw Kanaan apologizing to a matron whom Torren had bounded into. Torren was already melding with a pack of children his own age surrounding Calgra's student, who seemed to be telling them a story.

"Hey, Kanaan," John said when he'd joined them.

"Beautiful night," Kanaan said, which John thought was ridiculous: it was cold and foggy and no stars could be seen, but he knew what Kanaan had meant. All these people clustered together, free and happy and unafraid -- okay, he was right. It was a beautiful night.

"Yeah," he finally said, but Kanaan had begun talking to Jinto and his girlfriend Hera. Halling stood a bit further away, looming above the others. He nodded formally to John, who grinned. Halling grinned, too, as John had known he would.

"This is it," Rodney said, sounding bemused. He was staring into the water. John watched as Rodney tightened the scarf around his neck, and then he hooked his arm through John's. John smiled to himself and turned his attention to Konar, barely visible through the crowd.

Something creaked, and water splashed, and ripples washed onto the shore. The crowd stirred, pushing closer to the shoreline, spreading out like the ripples in the water. In the misty light John saw the arched bridge begin to move. He realized it was turning slowly, so slowly he could believe he was imagining the movement. It was turning so it was no longer perpendicular to the shore but parallel.

The crowd was silent as they watched; even the kids had quieted. John glanced over his shoulder and saw that the Eldest's students had herded the younger ones away, probably taking them to bed. He also saw that Jinto was using the time to kiss Hera, and Kanaan to kiss Teyla. He looked back, first at Rodney, whose mouth was curled in a slight smile, and then to the bridge, now turning a bit faster. In ten or so minutes, when it was fully parallel to the island's shoreline, it sank. The water bubbled, stilled, and then there was a subtle movement beneath John's feet. The crowd sighed.

"This is it," Lorne murmured, and Miko nodded.

John stared at the opposite shore, almost invisible. Wisps of fog drifted past, coiling up from the warmer water. For a long time, he thought that nothing more would happen. The people around him began to stir. A baby started to fuss, sounding sleepy. Rodney yawned. One of the dogs walked in a circle and lay down, huffing. Lorne pulled a notebook from his jacket and began to sketch something. Radek, Emily, and Miko held hands and then John felt another tiny movement, and he knew it was true: the island was moving. Only a few meters each day, he'd been told, but he believed it. The floating village of Kenswi was moving again, beginning the long circuit of the mountains.

John heard something then, or maybe felt it, or both: a low vibration or deep sound -- his ears hurt, a deep pressure like when the whales had tried to warn them about the solar flare. The dog jumped up, looking around, ears pricked and alert. The baby cried harder, and he and Rodney raised their eyebrows at each other.

"Not Ancient," Rodney had told him when they first began to realize what they had been invited to witness. "Nothing like Ancient technology, but it's just as advanced, maybe more so."

"We have read of the Ancients," Estes had explained. This was long after they'd begun trading with the Kenswi, long after John's team had made friends among the island people. About the time, John recalled, that the IOA had begun making unhappy noises about continuing to fund the Pegasus expedition. "The Ancients came from elsewhere, but the people who build this world were native here."

"And this island just, what, sails around the world?" Rodney had asked.

"Not quite. But a circuit built by the original Kenswi millennia ago. Now we use it to hide from the Wraith; as your pilots know, the village is almost impossible to see from the air, and continually moving, we present little target."

"Do you know the reason they built this?" Teyla had asked, looking around. John's team and stood with the Eldest at the foot of the bridge. It had been early morning that day, the fog even thicker, the yellow and pink flowers glowing through the fog like tiny beacons.

Calgra had spoken, something she rarely did when they'd first met. "We do not know," she had told Teyla. "We can guess. The Wraith were not created when the first great circuits had been built, though that does not mean other enemies were not to be feared. But the Kenswi were curious and cared deeply about their worlds. We have found remains of similar circuits on two other worlds, and on a third, the river still flows, though the islands have stopped. Their literature tells of many others. I believe their reason was love. To see their world, appreciate it, care for it."

"Sounds mystical," Rodney had muttered; of course, the Eldest had heard.

Calgra said, "Many disagree with me, Rodney of Toronto." She shrugged, still graceful despite her years. "Perhaps you will discover your reason. But my reason is love."

John had felt Rodney stifle a comment and was grateful. Teyla said, "I can think of no better reason, Eldest. I," she continued, and John knew she was speaking to him and Rodney even though she was looking at Calgra," feel safe here. Protected."

"You are," Estes had said confidently. Later, John would privately question Rodney, Radek, Emily, and Miko, and all the others, but they were unanimous. Miko had told him, "It isn't just fog, Colonel." She had looked up, they all had, at the mist that wound through the treetops.

Emily Simpson pushed the hair off her forehead. "It certainly isn't ordinary fog," she said. "It makes my hair all frizzy."

Radek had snorted with laughter, and tugged on Emily's curls.

And now John had embarked on the long circuit along with his friends and teammates, and with Rodney. For the first time in their lives, they would be free to study and to learn, to share and to teach, without deadlines and without fear. Maybe Calgra was right, and the reason for the great circuit was love. Whatever the original reason, his reason for being here was simple: made after the IOA's treatment of the SGC and their decision to pull back from Pegasus. Leaving Atlantis, losing his team, the friends he'd made, the family he'd found, had been unthinkable.

Actually being here, watching the bridge to their old lives submerge and disappear, was different than he'd imagined, though, and for a few moments John felt disoriented and lost. His back ached, and he was cold.

"That all?" Rodney asked Estes, interrupting him and Amelia.

Estes spread his hands. "Is there something more you wish?"

"Just bed," Rodney said.

Estes smiled and shook his head. "Then go to bed, Rodney of Toronto. The island will be here in the morning."

"That sounds so weird," Rodney said, turning to John and tugging at him. "The island will be here, except not _here_ here. It's like a quantum non-local connection."

" _Truth is ever to be found in the simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things_ ," John said, knowing Rodney would recognize Isaac Newton's words.

"Then it's simple; let's go home." They pushed their way through the thinning crowd, wishing friends old and new good night and good travel.

"I thought it'd be a bigger ritual," John said.

"Me, too. Should have known, I guess. Konar would've said something."

"Yeah, I guess."

"How's your back?"

"I really want to lie down with a heating pad." John was embarrassed by his admission; it had just popped out.

"Almost there." And they were, John saw; the lane curved again, and there in the dim glow he saw the drape of golden forsythia, the gleam of the damp pebbles in the bucket, a pale glow from the clerestory windows. Their own small home, warm and dry and waiting for them.

Rodney fixed them tiny cups of hot brown tea, a gift from Konar, and they went to bed, propping their backs against the bolstered wall. Rodney heated a towel and helped John slip it between his lumbar and the wall, so the warmth soothed his tight muscles. He had a small laptop, its light illuminating their bedroom, but it lay ignored on Rodney's lap. They sipped and talked and yawned until Rodney took the cup from John's sleepy hand. He lay down, sighing, and realized that he was home, in his own home, on a magic island that would sail forever, that was sailing the long circuit of life, a life he would share with Rodney.

"Night," he murmured, barely awake, and Rodney's big hand rested on his.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Hyvarken](http://hyvarken.insanejournal.com) for beta and brainstorming. Title from Robert Herrick's poem [The White Island](http://mirabile-dictu.slashcity.net/SGA/Island.pdf) (pdf).


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